


The Cablepool Treasure Chest

by fabiosisalert



Category: Cable and Deadpool, Deadpool (Comics)
Genre: M/M, some gay shit right here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-29 12:45:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6375244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabiosisalert/pseuds/fabiosisalert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my 50k word fanfic that I spent nearly six months of my life on. Please be kind when criticizing, as with a work of this length some mistakes are bound to slip through the cracks. Thanks, and please enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [minklemore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/minklemore/gifts).



> For Megan, the Deadpool to my Cable :^) ~

Cable and Deadpool ate at a French bistro. their daughters smiled and hugged for 30 minutes straight while Cablepool looked lovingly into each other's eyes. it was a Wednesday afternoon, and although Ellie and Hope had missed an entire day of school so that their fathers could be Gay, they were fine. they were learning about things such as not to eat gum off the street, and that lying to teachers makes everything better.  
what a good afternoon.


	2. The Suggestive Dinner

Cable, Deadpool, and a chicken the size of a toddler sat at the dinner table. With one fell swoop, Deadpool tore a wing from its golden body. Cable glared disapprovingly, and wagged his finger.  
"What?" Deadpool asked out of the side of his mouth and around a ridiculous bite of chicken. "This is how we do it in Jacksonville."  
Cable sighed wearily and said, "I know."  
He extended his metal arm to the center of the meal and took hold of the chicken in a firm grip that oozed yellow juice. With a good yank, Cable downed the entire bird in one swallow.  
Deadpool leaned his cheek against the palm of his hand and whispered, "God, I love you."  
Cable winked with a cheeky smirk. "That's not all I'll be swallowing tonight."


	3. Denny's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cable and Deadpool plan to eat out at Denny's and follow up with a movie.

Deadpool’s eyes followed the double stack-three quarter pound-bacon buried, cheese drowning, ketchup oozing grease monster as it descended into Cable’s open mouth. The burger’s excess fluid dribbled past his lips and to the point of his chin, creating the yellow puddle that stained the Denny’s tabletop. Cable was three minutes into the start of wiping his face clean when he caught Deadpool’s stare.

“…Yes?” Cable asked, a fleck of processed brown beef landing on the mountain of used napkins growing between them.

“I wonder,” Deadpool turned to make eye contact with an invisible force directly to his right, Cable’s left, “why we’re always eating in these things? Like, can we do something different? Just _once_? Or are we here to gain weight for the slaughter?”

Cable scoffed. “Stop talking to the audience, again. It’s rude.”

Deadpool shrugged. He decided that was a good moment to summon their waitress, a plump woman in her mid-fifties flipping dirty blonde hair back and forth over her shoulders, and order a milkshake. When she returned with three, one vanilla, one chocolate, one a specific mix between the two and hot sauce, he thanked her, “Great job, Jennifer,” and had her arrange the cups in a circle around his elbows’ rude positioning atop the table. After giving a faux chicken squawk, Deadpool began pecking each of the milkshakes’ straws at a point behind his mask that Cable could only assume was Deadpool’s mouth. Cable decided he would allow this to continue for another five minutes with a prayer that it would be over quickly, but knowing his boyfriend, it would last the rest of the night.

As sunset blew past the couple beyond their spectacular view of the Denny’s parking lot, Cable coughed under his breath. Deadpool had pierced through his mask with two of the bending plastic straws and shoved them into his nostrils. Though, this wasn’t surprising behavior. Cable was actually coughing in an attempt to switch Deadpool’s attention to the waitress, who stood at the edge of the table with their bill in her outstretched hand and sneakered foot tapping impatiently.

Deadpool finally noticed her and tossed a casual, “Put it on my tab,” into the conversation before heading towards the Denny’s doorway. Cable’s raised eyebrow grew an agitated twitch, but he paid Jennifer the Waitress with a minimal tip and hopped into their car. Unfortunately, Cable had the keys and it had been locked when Deadpool sauntered from the chain restaurant, so he had inevitably broken the window to enter and recline in the smooth passenger’s seat.

They were half way to the theater with hurtling wind rustling the remains of the right window’s broken shards when Deadpool commented, “Uh, sweetums? I think the movie’s over by now.”

Cable grunted in agreement, but didn’t change course. Deadpool shrugged and popped his hands behind his head, “Whatever you want, baby. Hey, you know what could be really fun? Alley Cats. Remember, they have laser tag? Dibs on the ‘Wolverine’ vest this time, though.” Cable nodded.

Unfortunately, they weren’t going to Alley Cats. They had been driving alone for a good three or four hours with only the sound of their car, the blast of the outside world’s air, and Deadpool snoring in time to the radio’s crackling static when Cable pulled over. They stopped directly in front of a city sign, but at a great enough distance that the headlights weren’t illuminating its towering announcement. Cable turned and gruffly poked Deadpool under his ribs.

“No, Mommy, I don’t want to get married! I’ve been Cable’s partner for like, his entire life. Yes, I did so tell you about the time he was a baby and shat in my hand…”

“Wade. Wake up.”

“But Mommy-“

“WADE!”

“What?!”

Deadpool was startled awake, and wildly twisted to look into Cable’s exhaustion-saturated eyes.

“We’re here,” he said, jerking his chin in the direction of the city sign. Deadpool squinted, pinching the fabric of his mask around his eyes and over the bridge of his nose, and huffed exasperatedly into a slouch.

“Where’s ‘here’? You know I only like surprises in the bedroom,” he grumbled. Cable inched forward until the sign’s bold white writing was finally visible. Deadpool jerked up, shoved the car’s sun roof aside, and stood so his torso was through the automobile’s ceiling and arms were waving wildly. Cable’s lips curled at their ends until they just crossed into the qualifications for a smile.

“WOOHOO!” Deadpool cheered. They swerved into the street and caught a last glimpse of the sign marking Jacksonville’s city limits. “THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKIN’ ABOUT!”


	4. The Golden Globes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deadpool has a momentary lapse of insecurity.

The television’s glow was the only light flickering through the living room, bouncing off the glass coffee table and the slick leather couch. It avoided the crevices between Wade and Nate, darkening the dips in their Snuggies where they cuddled shoulder to shoulder with a bowl of popcorn between them. Every other minute, Wade’s buttery fingers darted from the cave of his Snuggie sleeve and launched a handful of kernels in the general direction of his mouth, missed, and scattered them over the spread of his navy blue fleece.

“At least it works as a bib,” Nate commented as the awards ceremony transitioned to a commercial break.

Wade shrugged. He was too busy jutting both his neck and tongue out in an attempt to latch onto the loose popcorn rambling down his chest, hands-free. He only had so much range though, and was eventually forced to lift an arm to drop the rest down his gullet. He grumbled under his breath as he chewed.

Nate looked to him, “What’s the matter?”

Wade shrugged lazily. His chomping became faster and louder, though, while he crossed his arms under his covers.

“Wade, what is it?” Nate insisted. “This is the last time I’m going to ask you.”

Wade gave him another shrug. He mumbled, “I don’t care. Nothing’s wrong.”

Nate bobbed along and agreed, “All right, then.” He took his second handful of popcorn of the night, enough filling his monstrous palm to feed a family of three or four for the week, and slowly dragged it towards his face. Nate was a betting man, but his favorite kind of bet was a bet with himself. He was sure Deadpool would burst with explanation before he could take a bite, but when exactly? Would he have lifted his elbow by then? Would grease be dribbling down his forearm? He was sure it would be before he was able to prop a piece of popcorn against his lips.

A commercial for shampoo spun onto the television and Nate had his fist of food at eye level when Wade broke.

“You said Ryan Reynolds was one of the sexiest men you’d ever seen!” He shouted, snapping to look straight into the wrinkles around Nate’s eyes as he spoke. Well, the wrinkles around his eye and his techno-organic left bulb. He continued, “Where does that leave me, huh? We look nothing alike. Am I above, or below him? And don’t tell me you don’t have a ranking system for hot dudes, because that’s just not true. You have to, or I look like an asshole because _I_ do.”

Nathan crunched thoughtfully on a bite of his popcorn when he noticed the hair model fade back into their awards show.

“I’ll tell you in a minute,” he said, nodding to the TV and cranking the volume up several notches. Wade groaned and flopped limply into the couch cushions. He waited as celebrities claimed the podium and their awards over and over, one eye always on Ryan Reynolds when he edged into frame, and waited for the commentators to cut him some slack and announce another break. He bounced his leg, bounced his other leg, picked at a new scab on his knee he didn’t know was there, and spent a good majority of his time imagining how many and where Nate would amass liver spots in his old age. So, in like five years or so. Wade snorted to himself, but pretended he didn’t when Nathan almost acknowledged it.

Finally, a pizza chain took over the screen to advertise their new stuffed crust in dancing neon green letters.

“So?” Wade narrowed his eyes. “Am I hotter or less hot than Ryan Reynolds?”

Nathan sighed and yanked his phone out of its wedge between his back pocket and the seat. When he turned it to face Wade, Cable’s full power brightness and a headshot of Ryan Reynolds blinded him.

Nathan explained, “He’s a carbon copy. You are almost identical. If they ever need a stunt double who can reform their molecular makeup, I’ll tell his studio to give you a call. Why else would I find Ryan Reynolds sexy?”

Wade took the phone from Nate’s hand, and after dimming the screen, swiped between Ryan and the next photo in the camera roll, their Christmas card. He compared the angles of his face grinning under a Santa hat and his full mask to Ryan Reynolds; the cheeks, the eyes, the shapes of their noses. He couldn’t really tell given the red fabric hid his most prominent features, but he believed he could see it.

“Oh.” Deadpool set the phone on Cable’s lap. “Maybe we should have him over for dinner sometime.”

Cable nodded. “I’m sure he’d be a pleasant man to sit across from.”

They sat through a bout of silence while the television aired another thirty seconds of ads before Nate slyly looked to Wade out of the corner of his eye.

He wondered, “So, this list of hot dudes. Who’s on it?”

…

“Well, if you must know, pretty much everyone but Tobey Maguire, Andrew Garfield, and Tom Holland. They’re at the bottom of the barrel, particularly in the ‘Last Resorts.’ If you’re looking for the start of the list, Stephen Lang and Mel Gibson are front runners, my man. But, if you’re talking marriage material…”


	5. A Family Can Be One Tall Cyborg Who Loves The Golden Girls And A Regenerating Thief With A Purse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deadpool and Cable smiled to themselves. Ah, to be young and in love.

The stiff remnants of July’s air were diluted by the fall breeze whipping through the city, brisk with the arrival of September. Deadpool’s dress, tea length, daisy yellow, and layered over his full suit and mask, was kicked to his thighs by a surprise gust every few steps. Cable gripped his hand as they strolled down main street while Deadpool fisted a root beer in the other. Cable’s pockets were jammed full of Deadpool’s duct tape wallet, apartment keys, and the loose junk he usually kept in his own pants. Wade insisted he carry a purse, but he didn’t plan on losing any of his valuables when the opportunity came to give it a swing. And he planned on that opportunity arriving frequently. Actually, could you really call it a purse? It was just a brown paper Target bag with a sharpie dick drawn on the front, and “Property of Wade,” scribbled on the back. Deadpool kept it slung over his shoulder and full of mystery, intending to smack a few suckers in the jaw with his bag no matter what.

Jacksonville was bustling with energy that Saturday afternoon, and Wade intended to appreciate it. He basked in the chaos of the crowded streets, particularly in swiping loose odds and ends off unsuspecting strangers. With Cable by his side, his Styrofoam root beer cup empty of drink and filled with stolen goods, and the begrudgingly made promise that later on, Nate would buy the next season of The Golden Girls on Amazon, Deadpool was having the time of his life. (“Why not pirate it?” Deadpool pleaded for the seventieth time as the seventieth purchase was deducted from Nate’s credit card. Cable patted his cheek, “Because that’s illegal.”)

Cable absorbed some of the joy Deadpool radiated, and even allowed a smile to flicker every now and then. He was primarily looking forward to the ice cream parlor in the next five or so blocks. Deadpool had been begging to go for a double scoop of mint chocolate chip for two weeks, but refused to leave when Cable offered.

              “Why not?” Nate asked the first time.

              “Shark Tank is on? Duh? What the hell is wrong with you?” Deadpool turned back to the television as the commercial break ended.

              The second time, Wade fell asleep in a drunken stupor at four pm. He didn’t wake up until ten the next morning, but specifically felt more like, “hard lemonade and a nap,” than ice cream.

              The third time, he said no.

              The fourth time’s the charm.

              Nate stood maybe a foot and a half taller than Deadpool minimum, and observed the bobbing crowd from his superior height. A mass of people wasn’t his favorite spot to be, and he looked forward to the long stretches of side streets that didn’t harbor as much foot traffic. While Deadpool reveled in his own antics, Nate noted, from above him, because he was bigger, that Wade flinched every so often an odd hand or elbow got too close to his face. He fidgeted as, in the hunt for a cab, a burly man with his arm extended nearly smacked him. He jerked to the side when one half of a couple barreled towards the other for a hug. They stood at the crosswalk with a middle-aged woman in one of the tackiest brown tracksuits Nate had ever seen, and she yanked her hand out of her pocket answering a phone call. Wade leaned away with the speed of a 90’s slap-on bracelet.

              Once they were on the other side of the street, Cable led Deadpool aside.

              “What’s up?” Deadpool wondered. His eyes traced the graffiti spray-painted on the corner building, and the artist’s tagging. “Are we here because ‘Trap Masta Fuckthousand’ wants to meet up, sell us some weed? I didn’t think you were into that, but I’ve been craving Aunt Mary for like, a month.”

              Cable raised an eyebrow. “No. We are not here for marijuana. I was wondering if something was wrong? You seem to be on edge.”

              Deadpool stared back. He adjusted his purse and shuffled the sneakers he’d “found” tossed over a telephone wire near his apartment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about? I’m chill, my man. I thought we were having a good day.”

              “We are,” Cable squeezed Deadpool’s hand. He said, slowly, “But… you’re jumpy. I don’t mind if you want to go home.”

              “What? Nah, we’re getting ice cream. You’ve been putting it off long enough. C’mon, big guy,” Wade started in the direction of the parlor again, and tugged Nate behind him.

              They turned back onto the main road and closed in on the desert shop. With only half a block left, Deadpool slowed to a stop.

              “What’s the matter?” Cable asked. They halted in the middle of the sidewalk and allowed grumbling families and couples to skirt around them.

              Deadpool spoke haltingly, but his shock upped his volume. “Holy shit! I’ve been jumpy today!”

              “Yes.”

              “Why?”

              “What do you mean, ‘why?’ Are you repressing it?” Cable wasn’t sure how to go about this. How could Wade not understand what was happening?

              “I mean,” Deadpool rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess? But I’m an adult. I used to be really, really good about not flinching. It was my specialty. You could stick a fist right in my face! Would I move? No! I’m so disappointed in myself. I’ve gone soft.”

              “Wade, you had a bad childhood. I think you’re perfectly justified in—”

              “Yeah, but do I look like a baby to you?” Deadpool interrupted. “Do I look like a toddler? Do you see a pacifier between these pearly whites? Do you want to change my diaper, old man?”

              Nate pinched the bridge of his nose. “I will call the daycare right fucking now.”

              “I dare you—”

              “Get out of the way, assholes. Fabian is coming through,” a grumpy, middle-aged man grumbled, and shuffled around them while referring to himself in third person.

              “We’re having a moment here!” Deadpool swung, and managed to smack bald Fabian’s wire framed glasses clean off with the surprise of his weaponized Target bag.

              “Ow! Fabian is injured! Fabian is crying!” the pathetic man wept.

              “We’d better go,” Nate took Wade by the wrist, and rushed down the block. It was easier for Cable because he had longer legs, and was taller, but Deadpool was close behind. He lagged to shout over his shoulder, “Woops! My brain chemistry’s in _flux_ , so sometimes I have a hard time controlling my actions!” The last Fabian heard from his fetal position on the concrete was Deadpool’s maniacal laughter.

              When they slowed to a walk, they landed just outside the ice cream parlor. The bell overhead chimed as they entered, and Deadpool went straight for the glass case at the back of the room. A teenager stood behind it in their pinstriped button-down and smock, armed with a metal scooper.

              “Hello, and welcome to Slim Pickin’s. What can I get for you today?” the youth asked.

              Nate raised a hand to begin ordering, but Deadpool rushed ahead. “Hey, uh,” he examined the golden nametag pinned to their apron, “Adrian. I’m looking for something spectacular. Do you think you could do a cone with, like, six scoops?”

              Adrian hesitated. They stood before their cone options, plain, peanut, chocolate with sprinkles, the variety of cup sizes, and examined the strength of each waffle structure.

              “No,” they decided, “but I could give you two cones with three scoops on each, and you could stack them on top of each other.”

              Deadpool slapped a fifty-dollar bill on the counter. “Let’s get started.”

              “Sir, it’s really not that expensive—”

              “I said, let’s get started.”

              Thirty minutes, five plain waffle cones and a mixture of fifteen flavors in the trash, and two successful peanut cones with three scoops each later, and Deadpool finally allowed Cable to take his turn. Wade left the fifty on the counter, instructing Adrian to take whatever was left for a tip though he trusted Cable to make up the difference if it came out to under twenty percent, and waited at one of Slim Pickin’s outdoor seats with ice cream dribbling down his knuckles. When Cable joined him, they sat together under the blue and white flowered umbrella and among the plastic table’s stains.

              “You got one scoop? Of vanilla? In a cup?” Deadpool asked.

              “Yes,” Cable took a spoonful, “I think it is the most soothing flavor, and a sufficient amount.”

              Deadpool shrugged, “Whatever floats your big hunky boat.”

              As they ate, a beat of peaceful silence passed.

              Cable wondered, “By the way, where did you get fifty dollars? You haven’t had enough for pizza in weeks, and you constantly complain about it.”

              Deadpool scoffed. “Constantly is an exaggeration. I swiped it off Fabian.”

              “That’s fair,” Cable nodded. “Are you feeling better?”

              “I was never feeling down. I’m on a constant high, baby. But, yeah, I guess. Do you think Wolverine flinches too?” Deadpool slurped up a chunk of mint chocolate chip that was floating away.

              “Most definitely. Wolverine couldn’t handle half of what you do.” Cable scooted around the table so he was snuggled to Deadpool’s side, who leaned his head against Cable’s bicep, because Cable’s shoulder was too high up, because Cable was taller.

              “Thanks. Hey, do you hear that?” they listened to the city commotion, and the honk of traffic. In the midst, a high-pitched wail echoed through the town, “But I’m Faaaaaabian! I creeeeeated him!”

              Deadpool and Cable smiled to themselves. Ah, to be young and in love.             

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to @minklemore for creating the name "trap masta fuckthousand" <>


End file.
